So Far from Antarctica
by Cardi
Summary: A Zeon soldier's mind as he lays dying in the searing sun of an African wasteland.


_Ensign Algo Etwa_

Blown clear from my Zaku. How long was I out? Sun's high. Must've been at least five.

Christ it hurts. I try moving my arms, my legs. Dear Lord. My jaw clenches on its own when I look up. I hate Earth weather.

There's my Zaku, the one with the cannon. It _had_ a cannon. It _was_ a Zaku. A heap now, its side driven into the tough ground of wherever the hell I am. Where was it? Sudan? Ethiopia? Algeria? Some terrestrial hellhole. I bet the natives hate themselves. I hate myself.

Little Zacky's left leg's long lost. Heh. The whole machine's on its side like it's breaching out the soil like some of those whales do out the ocean.

My arms, my legs, they remind me that they're hurting and don't work. I drop my head, the thud like a hoof on stone. Why do I know how that sounds? I don't think I've ever heard a hoof on stone, but I know how it sounds.

Now I hate my arms, my legs. I hate my Zaku that's now a whale. Why am I laughing? It just makes me cough. I been laying here in the desert sun for maybe five hours with nothing to drink, so Dear Lord does coughing hurt. Rough rags being dragged around inside my chest, up through my lungs and shot out my mouth. I guess that's why they call it "ragged". 

I'm squinting. Swear the Sun Swear the Sun Swear...

Swear the Sun's getting brighter on its own accord. I'm squinting. Why did I say that to her? She was obsessed with me, wasn't she? And I blew it. She was pretty, too. Now she'll never see me as anything more than a friend.

Where is everyone? I want to look around. It's quiet, too quiet. Are they waiting? Waiting for the right moment? I'm right here, Feds. I can't move or nothing. Just finish the job already.

They were so fast. Planes and tanks everywhere. Ens. Pelko screaming like the bch he is. What happened to them? The veterans always talked about battles being just a blur. Guess they knew what they were talking about. Hell, what happened to _me_? Just doing my thing, lobbing shells, then I'm here in the dirt. Must be a good 200 meters from what's left of the cockpit. Coughing again. Dear Lord it hurts. I hate the coughing. I think I'll just let down my head and wait to die. It'll happen. This is how I'll die.

Oh God I'm going to die. Oh God God God oh God oh God

I didn't have to be such a dk to Ens. Lornis, but that ahole Lt. Farsel in his stupid magical floating mobile suit deserved everything and anything and everything he got and maybe 30 more. I'd daresay 40. My only regret is that I didn't kill the fface myself.

Okay I have more regrets than that.

I think it's been an hour since I woke up. Holy Christ I'm really going to die here aren't I? Dear Lord. I was never religious to speak of, but sometimes

I'm going to die here like this. There's no other way. Everyone forgot about me. Just another Zeke bit the dust, they'll think. Nothing to see here. Hope the bastard suffered. Hope he had a wife to widow, children to orphan. Gihren's boys.

Okay I have plenty to regret.

She was in love with me no she was infatuated that's more accurate. A dumb girl who thought I was a goddmn hero. Then I had to say that stuff and do those things and I died in her eyes. When did I die in your eyes? How long have I been dead? Whenever it was, we'll belatedly rubber-stamp it out here in wherever I am. Sudan? Ethiopia? Algeria or something? Don't bother trying to remember. My arms, my legs. Ragged.

Just me and what's left of that hate machine. All there is to see. The tans and their total victory.

Everything I did was so stupid. My life a litany of failure. The harder I'd swing, the harder I'd fail. I can take a hint. Time to give up. For a change. I'll lay down and fall back to sleep. Why does it always come to this? Because it's the best solution. The only solution. I believe in Fate.

Heavy eyelids. Maybe I can fall asleep in excruciating pain.

- 

Where am I?

My arms, my legs. Breaching Zaku whale. Rags. Litany of failure. I give up. Right. Got it. I'm still here, sans the sun, swear the sun. Fell asleep I guess? Wonder how many times I've done this without remembering. Maybe I've been here a week.

Pilot suit's sticking to me. Sweating like nothing else. Why did I wear this? I wish my arms worked, just so I could open the visor.

I was always so old. Just 23 and I felt like an old man for most my life. Just let it go by, easy come easy go. I'm a fing coward, that's what I am. Cowards take things for granted.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Soft thuds. I'd never heard the sound before but I knew they were footsteps on the soil of wherever the hell I am. Someone's coming. I can't turn my head that direction. Now he's there where I can just see him, not quite between me and the metal cyclops whale in its ocean of dirt. How come keeping my eyelids open takes all my energy?

Some guy. He freezes right when he looks me in the face, I think. I see him. Fed uniform. Infantry. Got his rifle slung over his shoulder. Some Nguyen picked up from his little peninsula and tossed over to Sudan? Ethiopia? Algeria? I hate how he looks at me like I'm the most horrible- Stop looking at me and _do_ something.

I'll say something, then: "Water". First thing that came to my mind. Croaked out lifelessly through parchment lips. The Fed walks towards me, taking down the rifle and holding it, but not pointing it anywhere. Still has that damn look on his face. I hate him.

"Medic." The word came out on its own. It forced past my lips. How do I know I'm still alive? This is how I'm going to die; waiting for this dumb kid to do something other than stare at me.

"Med-" I start, but the second part gets interrupted when I cough. It's a big cough. All the rags come out of me. Now I can barely see, since my helmet's insides're covered in rags. "Water," I say.

I can barely see, but he's just looking at me still. I can barely see him just standing there. Like he wasn't listening to me. Like he hadn't even heard

_Private 1st Class Trang Hai Bui_

The silence was deafening in a way the rifle's report never could be. This silence rushed in on the young private as the echoes died away into the dim evening. The silence would remain in his soul for the rest of his born days.

A red-haired private, a greenhorn no older than 19 years, dashed over to his friendly acquaintance. Trang couldn't take his eyes off the Zeke's mind, scattered and glistening dully in the fast-fading sunlight. The red-haired private was in hysterics, all up in arms about the Antarctic Treaty or somesuch. Trang didn't notice; his mind, body, and soul were transfixed on what he'd done. The man everyone had assumed was already dead, but his eyes... The Zeon's green uniform had splotches of rusty red from the old blood all over. The rest of the men, all combat veterans, regarded the scene with no more than a passing glance as they marched on.

The red-haired kid's fit attracted the attention of Sgt. Stowe, who they say fought every inch of the Europe fight from day one. The grizzly, heavy-framed man lumbered over to the young greenhorns and, before he could demand an explanation, was tumbled over as the red-haired private redirected his avalanche of indignance toward him.

"Listen kid," cut in Stowe, "Trang was doing the poor bastard a favor. He was gonna die, so why let him suffer?"

The red-haired kid emphatically brought up the Antarctic Treaty.

"Kid," rumbled Stowe with cold finality, "You realize how far we are from Antarctica?"

The silence in his soul welling up like a fist inside his chest, Trang felt just how far he was from Antarctica. How far he was from home.


End file.
